


Breathe

by hystericalselcouth



Series: Breathe in the air [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3636693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hystericalselcouth/pseuds/hystericalselcouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don't own anything, I make no profit.<br/>DEFINITELY TRIGGERING, TURN AROUND NOW.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything, I make no profit.  
> DEFINITELY TRIGGERING, TURN AROUND NOW.

Faramir laughed loudly and called for more wine. With exaggerated expressions and a boistrous tone, he dominated the space around him. Arwen leaned in towards her husband.  
"Is Faramir alright?"  
"Why? I think he's doing pretty well tonight!" whispered Aragorn contentedly.  
"It's nothing..its just that he seemed uncannily happy," replied Arwen sheepishly.  
Aragorn raised his eyebrows and chuckled at the comment, and returned to watch his Steward animatedly narrate the day's incidents at the other end of the long banquet table.

* * *

"Faramir, I'm sorry , I know it's late, but I've left those documents on your desk."  
No answer.  
Standing outside Faramir's door, Aragorn paused for a few seconds before knocking hard on the wood for the fourth time. It was terribly windy and clad in only a tunic, Elessar shivered as large drops of rain hit him.  
Cursing the open corridor which led to a balcony, he knocked again. He noticed that the door was not locked and felt that if he sneaked in without a sound, Faramir wouldn't really mind in his deep slumber.   
Besides, they had been to hell and back together and the Steward was certain to not take offence. After all, the two men were like brothers. So, Aragorn gently pushed the door open, but he was not prepared to see the sight of a dark body crumpled sideways on the wet floor, illuminated by the moonlight flooding in through the large, open window.  
The strong wind blew hard, noisily ruffling the drapes of the four-poster and pellets of ice-cold rain thundered down on the form. The moving trees outside cast eerie shadows across the room. Aragorn saw a gleam of light on the floor. Hesitantly moving closer, he saw the unmistakable hilt of the Steward's blade, which Faramir often took with him on expiditions.  
Putting two and two together, worry, concern and horror filled his chest. Rushing to the pale, shaking form of his friend, Aragorn tried to push away his worst fears. His steward could do many things with a blade, and everyone close to Faramir had feared that he would be the most creative in the wake of recent events. On closer inspection, Aragorn found that Faramir was undressed, trembling from the cold.  
If that hadn't caused Aragorn enough worry, the blood gushing from the figure's arms and side certainly did. Aragorn yelled for gaurds and immediately prepared himself for what what was to come.

* * *

 

"Easy, calm, breathe, mellon, just breathe."  
Warmth radiated through his chest. He heard voices in the darkness, hushed whispers, movement of light beyond his closed eyelids. He tried opening his eyes, but to no success.  
Once more, he felt pressure crush his chest, like waves of panic and torture. The pleasant warmth had returned along with the deep, soothing voice, urging him to control the rising anarchy within him.  
However, he could not. His breathing quickened, he tried to move his limbs, tried to jostle and turn, aything to get away form the pit that fast approached him, but his hands were pinned down, oh, how the weight kept him from his escape. Those warm hands travelled to his face, cupping his cheeks and another soothing, familiar voice, but in a higher pitch and feminine grace enveloped him.  
A rush of energy coarsed through him and his eyes snapped open.  
Evrything was hazy, blurry patches of peach, yellow, white and brown. As his vision improved, he felt his strength recede. Suddenly, pain flared up throughout his body. Something seized his heart, wrapping its dark tendrils around the organ, tangling its veins and arteries, causing him to hyperventilate again.  
That deep voice, which he now recognised as Aragorn's, said something about calm and strength, but none of it helped. When he tried to speak, he could only produce groans. Hands held his, and he was slowly raised. He felt his weight sag into numerous pillows.  
His vision cleared to find the worried faces ofAragorn, Arwen and Imrahil hovering above him. Something clicked in his head. The concerned faces of those who loved him triggered one thought, then another and the next. He realised that those very thoughts had brought him here.  
Then, like bricks, the memory of what he'd done hit him. Fright grew to horror and then hate, hate for himself. His face grew pained, lines wrapped his fair features.  
He closed his eyes as if to shut the world out.

Aragorn had thought it selfish of Faramir to believe that no one really cared for the Steward. Well, here they were, Arwen, Imrahil and himself, scraed out of their wits. Aragorn had fought long and hard to bring Faramir out of his death-like slumber.  
The blood loss coupled with the fever he had caught from the cold proved to be a fierce enemy. Now, as Faramir stared open-eyed past the three figures, Aragorn felt a little lost. He watched as realisation dawned on his Steward and with a confused curiosity watched as his Steward's face shriveled up in pain.  
For a moment, Faramir's blank eyes were windows to his tormented soul. The excruciating pain and anguish of Faramir that could be seen for those few moments made Aragorn forget his hatred and the latter fully and readily forgave his best friend.  
Aragorn ran his hand over Faramir's forehead and asked him to open his eyes. Faramir only closed his eyes tighter and turned his face away.  
Aragorn's face fell. It was tough as he falt a little bit of the pain that Faramir had been dealing with. Aragorn stood up, but staggered backwards. Arwen rose to steady him.  
"My Lord, Lady, it would be best if you get some rest. I'll stay with him," assured Imrahil.  
"Are you sure you'll-"  
"My Lady," Imrahil cut her off abruptly.  
Tired and exhausted, Aragorn leaned on Arwen as she guided him out of Faramir's chambers.

* * *

 

It had turned dark when Faramir rose from his stupor. The room was dimly lit, the shadows and flames from the fireplace danced. Imrahil was still sitting next to Faramir, Arwen had come in for a few hours while Aragorn rested.  
Now, Imrahil was his nephew's only company. Faramir's tired eyes cracked open to gentle stroking of his hair.  
"Uncle?" he murmured.  
"Sssh....I'm here."  
Faramir weakly attempted to rise, but when he tried to, agonizing pain in his side made him fall back. Imrahil gently helped him up. For a moment, uncle and nephew were locked in embrace, both sitting up on the bed.  
Faramir held on to his uncle tightly, his head reeling. He buried his face in his uncle's broad shoulders. Imrahil ran his hand down his nephew's back, calming him. Faramir sagged into his uncle and let go. First, he tried to control it, but tremors coarsed through him. Then, what followed was numbness, proceeded by sobs and gasps.   
Imrahil held him firm and steady. Familiar anguish came down like tidal waves on a shore, leaving him frail and weak. Somthing similar had happened when Faramir's mother had passed on, both men sitting till late that night, comforting each other in silence.  
"Why did you want to do it? Death isn't the answer. We can help you know, we're here."  
Breathing into his uncle's warm overcoat, he let out a shaky, muffled reply.  
"I didn't want to kill myself."  
Imrahil soothingly rocked him, staring off into the darkness of the night through the large windows behind the bed.   
After a few minutes of silence, Faramir's voice, soft, but firm and clear, rang through Imrahil's ears.  
"I'm not sure I can still say that."


End file.
